


bitter in your cold

by euphemea



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Making Up, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26590519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/euphemea/pseuds/euphemea
Summary: No big deal. He’ll just go find Felix; he won’t be far. So what if Felix woke up and decided he couldn’t bear to stay in bed with Sylvain? That’s just how things are. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Felix for more.Sylvain has never been fair.~~Sylvix Week 2020 Day 1: After the War/Future
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 12
Kudos: 125
Collections: Sylvix Week 2020 Fic Collection





	bitter in your cold

Sylvain wakes to cold sheets.

There’s no gentle transition back to consciousness. The sun doesn’t caress his face. His body isn’t humming with well-rested contentment. No, one moment, Sylvain’s asleep, and then the next, he’s not, instead fully aware of the void between his arms. He stares at where the covers have been pushed back, and his fingers curl around nothing. 

This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last. Sylvain would normally bite back the bitter disappointment, bury it somewhere deep, plaster on a smile—but today, the emptiness punches him awake, douses him in cold reality.

It makes him almost miss the days when _he_ would be the one to wake early and sneak away.

There’s a dozen things Sylvain wants to say. Things that he has said, at one point or another. They clamor to his lips and trip over each other, tangling in his throat. He only manages to choke out the first of them. “Felix?”

Sylvain knows what he’ll hear. Tension creeps up his spine anyway.

There’s a beat.

It’s silent save for the distant murmurs of Fraldarius Manor rising from slumber. Sylvain exhales. This was the only possibility, and he’s still disappointed.

He shouldn’t be. This? This is fine. It’s the best that he can ask for; it’s already more than he deserves. 

No big deal. He’ll just go find Felix; he won’t be far. So what if Felix woke up and decided he couldn’t bear to stay in bed with Sylvain? That’s just how things are. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Felix for more.

Sylvain has never been fair.

He throws on a pair of pants and heads down to the training hall, his footsteps echoing. Felix always complains that Sylvain walks too loud—that his gait sounds like a Demonic Beast careening through the woods. Maybe Felix’s accusations are only slightly hyperbolic. That’s fine by Sylvain. 

He remembers the battles where he hadn’t been the flashiest person on the field, the battles where someone else had been forced to take an arrow or spell instead. 

Sylvain pauses at the entrance of the hall to stare at Felix. He’s beautiful. He always is. 

He’s in peak form. Felix’s hair is pulled back in its usual high ponytail. He’s dressed in a light shirt and trousers. His gaze is far sharper than the training sword in his hand. No opponent has ever stood a chance, least of all Sylvain.

Felix’s shoulders twitch as Sylvain steps into the hall. He doesn’t turn around. After a beat, he returns to swinging his sword. Sylvain ignores the sinking in his stomach.

“Felix! You didn’t stay to say good morning. I missed you.”

Felix clicks his tongue in irritation. As usual. It shouldn’t feel so cutting.

“Good morning. I saw you not half an hour ago.” Felix jerks his head toward the rack of lances. “Since you’re here, you can join me.”

Sylvain sighs and walks forward to wrap an arm around Felix’s waist. He counts it as a victory that Felix doesn’t shrug him off. He knows better than to think that Felix settles into the touch, but it’s a nice thought anyway. “You know the war’s been over for five years, right?”

“I’m aware,” Felix replies, sardonic. “But the war being over does not mean that we’re free of fighting. Neither the end of the war nor the intervening years have abated the petty squabbling, and we’re not free of rebellion.”

“But you don’t have to be on the front lines anymore. We can take it a little easier.”

“I won’t fall into the trap of neglecting my training simply because you prefer to waste our hard-earned training.” 

Sylvain winces. “I mean, sure, but there’s a happy medium, right? Take a day off occasionally and relax a little.” _Forget everyone else, just stay with me_ , Sylvain wants to say. But he can’t be that greedy. It’s not like Felix won’t know what Sylvain means; he can read between the lines. “The war’s over. You can put down your sword.” 

Felix pulls himself away and scans Sylvain from head to toe. Sylvain reaches for a smile, quickly slaps it on. He throws in a wink for good measure. 

Felix scoffs. “You’re prattling on about slacking again. We’ve had this discussion before; this is no time to show weakness. Dimitri’s rule remains tenuous, especially with Rowe territory and Western Adrestia. He needs Fraldarius and Gautier. We would be remiss not to stand with him.”

The mention of Dimitri’s name sends blood rushing through Sylvain’s ears. Felix’s words sound distant, garbled as though through water. 

Of course it’s Dimitri that Felix thinks of first. 

A small, rational part of Sylvain recognizes that he’s being unfair. That jealousy he should have long buried is rearing its ugly head. At the end of the war, Felix had accepted Sylvain. Sylvain had never deserved Felix, but Felix stayed with him anyway. It just didn’t change that Felix always put Dimitri first.

Sylvain knows Felix isn’t wrong about their political situation. Dimitri needs the strength of their titles. Dimitri is doing his utmost to install progressive change even as he deals with reconstruction, but there are layers upon layers of machinations at play. The active support of Fraldarius and Gautier is imperative for maintaining peace.

Even so, resentment bubbles to Sylvain’s lips.

“So you’d choose being Dimitri’s shield and advisor over us. Over yourself,” Sylvain says, old irritation bleeding into his tone. He has to get a grip, but the words won’t stop. “Just admit that you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not swinging your sword around at everything you see. You’re clinging to any reason to hold onto it.”

The words scald Sylvain’s tongue as they rush past. They hang in the air—an accusation, the static before a crash of thunder. He regrets them immediately. 

Felix’s expression clouds over. His hands tremble where they still grip his sword. “Don’t waste my time with absurd accusations. Say what you mean.”

“You know what I mean,” Sylvain says, bitter and tired. “You’re just choosing to ignore it.”

Sylvain can’t keep his mouth shut. He’s adding to the storm clouds hovering between them. Sylvain’s never known how to hold his tongue, but right now, he’d swallow it if it meant he could stop talking. 

Felix walks deliberately to the sword rack and hands up his training sword. He keeps his back to Sylvain, tension drawn taut in his shoulders.

“What?” Sylvain sneers. The words fall out, forceful, even as his heart hammers in his chest in protest. “Can’t deal with the truth? You haven’t seen anything bloodier than a skirmish in years. Yeah, people need us, Dimitri needs us, but not to stab anyone. The war’s over, Felix, it’s time for you to accept it.”

“I’m not talking to you when you’re like this. We’re done here.” Felix swivels back around and shoves past Sylvain toward the exit. His eyes don’t meet Sylvain’s.

“Oh, so now you’re running away,” Sylvain calls out, turning slowly toward Felix, his smile sharp and fixed. “I thought that was my move. You really can’t just own up to it, huh?”

Felix falls for the bait. He whirls around, hair flying. 

It’s entirely the wrong reaction to think about how hot Felix is when he’s mad.

“I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s not going to work. You want to make me mad so you can justify feeling like I should kick you out.”

Sylvain opens his mouth to retort, but Felix cuts him off.

“I’m not going to do that. I don’t have time to indulge in your self-pity. I won’t pretend that I’m not tired of this routine, but I won’t feed into it anymore.” Felix plants himself in front of Sylvain, and he stares up, eyes hard. “I’m leaving at noon for Fhirdiad today and I won’t be back till next moon. I woke up early to get my training out of the way so we could have breakfast together. I thought we could have a good morning before I leave, but I suppose I was wrong.”

The pit of Sylvain’s stomach drops out. 

Right. Fhirdiad. Four weeks. 

He’d forgotten. He was so preoccupied with feeling abandoned that he missed the obvious reason why. The loneliness eating him at him suddenly doubles, and it carves a cruel path, icing Sylvain from the inside out. 

Sylvain’s expression must slip, because Felix’s stance softens and he takes Sylvain’s face in his hands. He squeezes just the slightest bit too tight, but it’s good. It’s grounding. There’s air in Sylvain’s lungs again. 

“I’ll be back soon. You can’t get rid of me no matter how hard you try.”

Sylvain laughs, hollow. “You don’t know that.”

Felix grips him tighter. It kind of hurts. Sylvain wouldn’t mind brands in the shape of Felix’s hands to be permanently carved into his skin. “I do.”

“You don’t. You can’t know the future. No one can—it’s why we’re all still stuck fighting for a peace we should have already won.”

“Shut up,” Felix says, sharp. His eyes are slits of gold, flashing and dangerous. Sylvain’s jaw snaps shut, and a small wave of relief crashes over him. Control over the flood of his words may lie outside of Sylvain’s reach, but it’s well within Felix’s.

Felix continues: “I decide what happens to me. I chose—” he looks away, red rising in his cheeks, “I chose to stay with you, after the war. Because I cared. I didn’t do it out of pity, or obligation, or whatever the fuck it is you think when you’re like this.” He forces his gaze back up to meet Sylvain’s. “Get it through your head, Sylvain: I’m here because I love you.”

Sylvain’s heart leaps to his throat. An answering flush crawls up his own neck. Now, when he needs them, the words jam in his throat, and he can’t find the right ones to say.

It’s a wonder and a marvel every time Felix tells Sylvain he loves him. Even if, someday, Sylvain is eventually worthy of Felix’s love, he hopes that it never stops being this much of a gift.

Felix wipes a thumb at Sylvain’s cheek and it comes away damp. Sylvain hadn’t even felt the tear well up.

Felix sighs and lets his hands fall. Sylvain takes them in his own, measured and tentative. To his relief, Felix squeezes back tight. “If you’re going to be like this, come with me. The minor lords can manage without us for a moon, and Sreng’s delegation can be delayed.”

The prospect is tempting, even more than it had been weeks ago when Felix’s trip was being planned. It hangs just out of reach, a desperate “yes” ready behind Sylvain’s lips—but he swallows it down and shakes his head. 

“No, we can’t delay. My meeting with Sreng has been in the works for a couple years, we can’t just throw it away.” Sylvain smiles, small and watery, but honest. “And I’m not going to ask you to cancel your trip either. We both know that Dimitri needs you in court, at least for a bit. He’s too soft-hearted to say no as much as he needs to.”

Felix scoffs. “I don’t enjoy being his mouthpiece to reprimand the greed of lesser nobility who took the easy way out during the war.”

Sylvain chuckles. “Yes, you do.” He presses a kiss to the back of Felix’s hand. “You love knocking them down a peg. It’s okay—I love it when you do it, too. It’s very sexy.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “So you’ve said about a dozen times before.”

“It never stops being true.”

Felix snorts. “Then we should definitely bring you along to Fhirdiad. It’ll put you in a good mood, if no one else.”

Sylvain shakes his head again. “I’ll be—well, maybe not _okay_ , but I’ll manage. I’ll be waiting for you to come home.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah—yeah, I’m sure. We knew it would be like this. Maybe one day it won’t be. That would be nice.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I need to say—I’m sorry for ruining your last morning here.”

Felix drops his head onto Sylvain’s shoulder, keeping it turned away from Sylvain’s face. His hair tickles Sylvain’s chin. “I don’t like it any more than you do, you know. The bed in the castle sucks. It’s big and empty, and nothing in that room smells like you.”

The admission sends a flush of heat through Sylvain, and he reacts on instinct, pulling Felix into a hug. “I love you. No matter how far away you are, no matter how long you’re away—you’ve always been it for me.”

“I know.”

Sylvain lets out a laugh. “Hey, you’re supposed to say it back.”

“I already did.”

Sylvain lets himself pout. 

After a long beat, Felix exhales. “You’ll be okay?”

“I think so. I feel better than I did when I woke up, at least? I can’t make any promises about the rest of the moon. I’ll just have to keep myself occupied while thinking about you.”

Felix snickers before pulling back and smirking at Sylvain. “Of course. Well, if that’s the case, we still have some time before I have to leave. If you’d like to join me and to get a head start on that.”

Felix is most of the way to the exit by the time Sylvain’s brain catches up with him. 

His bed might be lonely while Felix is gone, but there’s no reason they can’t delay that for a few more hours.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on twitter [@euphemeas](https://twitter.com/euphemeas)


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